Timing
by fascimility
Summary: [FujiTezuka] When late is not too late.


Disclaimer: I don't own, PoT, yeah.

Notes: Exactly 75 minutes. First time for this fandom, hopefully alright. Fuji thinks that maybe it's not too late after all…For tm challenge: Late. Comments and criticism welcome.

_**Timing**_

The lounge was almost empty, and through the misty glass, Fuji could barely make out the runway; a sleek dark road framed on both sides by lamplight till it melted into the night.

The lights on the tarmac were faraway points in the distance.

Fuji closed his eyes and smiled. Luminous in the dim room, stark black digits against the turquoise backlight, the wall clock read 01:21.

The dispenser at the corner of the room was out of ponta. Fuji thought about how unfortunate it was that Ryoma hadn't been able to come. 

Oishi had other commitments, and Kawamura had been too caught up with work at the restaurant. Kaidou, Momoshiro and Ryoma hadn't answered any of his calls either, but that was understandable, since nowadays they seldom saw each other anymore. Fuji doubted that the numbers he dialled were the right ones anyway.

Inui had been the first one to know, as always, but even Fuji had been mildly surprised at the amount of information Inui had managed to unearth. Seigaku's former data master was still as chillingly efficient as ever.

The phone call from Inui had been brief and concise, although Fuji remembered how odd it had been; complex, with sly hints and subtle undertones. Inui had inserted the subject of Tezuka; calmly, insinuatingly, as if it were the most natural thing to talk about.

"Hmmm?" Fuji had said, careful not to allow tenseness to filter into his voice.

"Tezuka's returning to Japan this December." Inui had stated. He seemed to break off before continuing. "Perhaps a meeting can be arranged."

"Ahh… That's good," Fuji had replied, his unwavering smile still place.

"I'll fax over the details later. I'm sure everyone else will come."

"Thank you."

With that, he had clicked off.

The next day he received the fax while sorting through the mail. Looking at the sheet of paper he held in his hands, Fuji had to smile. Inui had done a very thorough job.

What caught his attention later as he sat down and scanned through the rows of neatly typed words was the little paragraph inserted at the end.

Fuji calmly folded the paper into a tiny square before hurling it out of the window.

He was still smiling, but this time, his eyes were wide open.

Inui had sent him an email a few days later.

Fuji had read it with mild surprise; noting that none of the remaining members of the former Seigaku team could make it to the airport on that day. Attached was Tezuka's phone number and contact address. Fuji deleted it.

The following day he received a call from Oishi, and Fuji had been pleased to discover that Oishi had been doing well and a little disappointed to hear that the vice-captain had an important dinner that coincided with Tezuka's arrival. He'd hung up, not before promising Oishi that he would be sure to give Tezuka a good welcome.

Sighing, Fuji relented and retrieved Inui's message from the trash.

The car was a good investment, Fuji had to admit. Red hadn't been his first choice, but somehow Eiji had wheedled, whined and begged his way to convincing him. It took a little getting used to in the beginning, but after a week Fuji was as comfortable driving it as wielding a tennis racquet.

Fuji liked the feel of the wind in his hair when the car raced through the deserted night streets and the sound of Eiji's laughter by his ear. Best of all he liked staring out of the wound down window to lose himself in the labyrinthine maze of neon lighted streets as the car moved on and forward, tyres on tar, road to road.

Fuji would have liked to go faster, but Eiji was pouting, so he merely reached forward and smiled.

They were living together after all.

Below the flight details and arrival time, a little paragraph had been inserted. It simply read:

Love: A very strong feeling of affection to someone who you are romantically or sexually attracted to. Lust: A feeling of strong sexual desire for someone. Tezuka still loves you, Fuji. Certainty: 99.9

And Fuji wondered what the remaining 0.1 was.

It wasn't that Fuji was dangerous; it was just that pushing him one step too far could result in more pain than should have been possible. People didn't learn that too fast, sadly. Fuji could only conclude that it had been the smile.

But he would have expected a certain Tezuka Kunimitsu to catch on more quickly. It took a considerable amount of genius to attract Fuji's attention, and once you had caught it, it would have been best drop it as fast as possible.

And really, Fuji wasn't the sort to prolong things any longer than he had business to.

The scholarship form Germany had been a shock. 

Both Tezuka and Fuji had privately entertained the possibility, but neither had voiced it or would have admitted to even thinking about it. They stared at the letter, until Fuji broke the silence. "So… is Germany a good place?"

"It's a nice country," Tezuka had replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

"You like it there?"

Fuji's voice was strangely bitter and oddly coaxing; Tezuka couldn't place it, that strained tone that seemed at the same time to be warmly comforting. He paused, before letting himself say, " Yes, I do." Then as an afterthought, he added, "But I prefer Japan."

Fuji cocked his head to the side and smiled. "Maa… I think… that you should accept it and go." He paused before enquiring, "how long will you be gone?"

Tezuka steadied himself before saying," It's only for high school. I'll be back after that."

"Ahh.. that's good," Fuji had said, almost in a whisper. Then something in the kitchen was hissing, and he stood up to get the food. "Why don't we talk about it over dinner?"

Between mouthfuls of rice Tezuka had gone through the scholarship point by point, word by word. It had grown late, and by the end of it when Tezuka was starting to tire, all the tensai had done was to smile and say with a yawn, "Maa.. Just go to Germany, Tezuka."

Even through the dim light, Tezuka could tell that something had changed. He reached for Fuji, only to feel the rough fabric of the couch beneath his fingers. "Good night," Fuji said, as the lights clicked off.

Even with Fuji's mouth pressed harshly against his and Fuji's body like a dead weight below him, Tezuka felt cold for the first time in many nights.

The night it rained Fuji sat down and punched in the numbers and dialled methodically till half an hour later when he got up and ripped the phone out of the wall.

The hollow ringing was still in his ears as he stared out his window into the stormy night, where the halos of light wavered and shimmered in the velvety darkness.

The intercom clicked to life as the recording began and a soft female voice began to speak. Fuji was jolted awake, suddenly aware of how the can in his hands had gone cold and the way the freezing air was streaming through the thin fabric of the turtleneck he wore. He tilted his head back and drained the last of the drink, rubbing the palms of his hands together to restore the warmth.

Standing up, he threw the can effortlessly in a perfect arc to the bin. Leather shoes sinking into the soft carpet, Fuji made his way to the glass doors which parted silently to the foyer.

The luminous dial of his watch read 02:00. The plane had landed.

Fuji spotted Tezuka in line waiting for a cab, behind an old man and a newly married couple. He pulled up and flashed his headlights, rolling down the window before giving Tezuka a gentle smile.

Wordlessly he got out of the car and took the suitcase from familiar hands, quietly guiding Tezuka's stoic form into the passenger seat and shitting the door after.

Fuji opened the boot and stowed the luggage away, briefly wondering why Tezuka's suitcase was so heavy. He slid into the driver's seat and twisted the key in the ignition. Silently, Fuji felt the car come to life in a low vibrating hum.

He revved the engine and sped out of the airport, turning into the highway where the road seemed to stretch before him like the path to eternity.

"Fuji…" Tezuka began.

"Welcome back to Japan." Fuji kept his eyes carefully averted, keeping his gaze on the road before him. The amber light from the lampposts played wildly in the interior of the car, indistinct patches that seemed to grow and fade intensity.

"Ahh… I got your letter."

Fuji nearly slammed his foot down on the brake. "I didn't send you a letter." His grip on the steering wheel tightened. Inui was behind this, he was sure.

Tezuka continued calmly, "I would never have gone to Germany." He turned from watching his reflection in the glass to looking Fuji straight in the eye. "There were some things that should have been said."

"Maa… but you've already gone, Tezuka." Fuji returns the gaze, smiling with his eyes almost open. "Did you enjoy your time there?"

Tezuka placed his hands on the dashboard, flat, with the palms down. "It's a nice car. Though I wouldn't have expected you to chose red."

Fuji chuckled slightly, and thought the better of mentioning Eiji. "Ahh. I'm glad you like it." He frowned a little before continuing. "Your flight was late."

"There was a slight delay. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Fuji said. "The rest couldn't make it tonight."

Silence settled quietly over them. Tezuka could feel the belt tight across his chest, restraining him, forcing him deeper into the seat. The headrest was too low for him, and he resisted the temptation to reach back and adjust it.

Turning around he became acutely aware of other things he had missed before; the ornament that dangled on the rearview mirror, the lemon scented air refreshener, the box of band-aids tucked behind a map…

Tezuka could feel Fuji's eyes on him; a steady, unwavering gaze. Abruptly, Fuji reached out to flick on the radio. Tezuka caught his hand before it reached the dial, saying more angrily than he meant, "I don't want music."

Fuji's cellphone began to ring; a sharp electronic tune that cut through the space between them.

Fuji withdrew his hand and reached for his pocket, and Tezuka caught a glimpse of the lighted screen in the darkness. "Eiji Kikumaru", it said, black letters bold on the starkly lit square, with a small picture of the redhead as Tezuka had remembered him beside it.

Fuji clicked the phone shut; cutting the light off and silencing the melody in one fluid motion. He turned off the side of the road, heading into a lighted part of town Tezuka wasn't familiar with. 

"Ne, Tezuka, it looks like you're not too late."

He turned to face Tezuka, and this time, Tezuka knew the smile was genuine.

The End

03/12/2004


End file.
